


these feelings keep running the red

by caramelize



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding, he/him pronouns for yuu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27322765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelize/pseuds/caramelize
Summary: It wasn't out of the goodness of his heart that Ace agreed to be glorified training wheels for his dorm head. It had nothing to do with his heart whatsoever.There were, after all, rules for this sort of thing.
Relationships: Riddle Rosehearts/Ace Trappola
Comments: 24
Kudos: 90





	these feelings keep running the red

**Author's Note:**

> A few things! One, the timeline for this is...waves hand because twst is vague on that, sometime post-Ghost Marriage, so spoilers for that everywhere.   
> Two, the canon gives me a lot of room as far as magic goes, so if later it turns out something doesn't exist, or a certain character can't cast a particular spell, my apologies! At this point in time, as far as I knew they could.   
> Three, Yuu here uses he/his pronouns. I said so in the tags, but just a refresher. 
> 
> And that should do it. Enjoy!

In Ace’s defense, usually when things got out of hand because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, the consequences were much more immediate. So there was no way for him to anticipate that gossiping about everyone’s experience in romance to avoid cleaning up the aftermath of the ghostly wedding reception would lead to what was, effectively, his dorm head propositioning him. 

_Some_ thing must have gotten twisted in the grapevine, because while he had certainly preened over having gone on dates to rub it in the faces of the other first years, he knew he never claimed to do anything he hadn’t actually done. In fact, there had been a lot he didn’t say, but even that seemed far, far beyond the scope of what Riddle was asking. And Riddle was now staring at him, arms folded, waiting. Ace couldn’t tell if the tap-tap-tap of Riddle’s index finger against his elbow was out of impatience or nervousness, but either way, Ace guessed he should probably give some kind of reply, and quickly. 

“I—could you repeat that? I’m pretty sure I misunderstood you somewhere.” 

“You didn’t misunderstand me,” Riddle said, unflinching and offering no room for Ace to play ignorant. “Do you want to fool around or not?” 

“Dorm head, you know what you’re really asking me, right?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, Ace realized he’d made a mistake, because Riddle’s jaw clenched in the way anyone at Heartslabyul could tell meant he was one more affront away from going on a rampage. 

“ _Of course_ I know! If your answer is no, then say so already, but don’t waste my time acting like—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Ace interjected before Riddle could work himself any further into a froth, partly because he wanted to keep his head _on_ , and partly because his immediate answer wasn’t precisely a negative one. Without a doubt, Riddle was tyrannical and exacting and kind of an utter brat, but, he was also talented and clever and was genuinely trying to make things better for the dorm as a whole, to repair all the trust he’d nearly burnt to ashes before. And, maybe most important of all in this situation, Riddle was undeniably pretty. While it could sometimes be difficult to remember when that slender frame and pouty mouth belied such an awful temper, it didn’t erase the fact completely.

Still, Ace half-expected the whole bizarre scenario to be a hallucination caused by alchemical backfiring, and on his next blink, the dorm lounge and Riddle in front of him would melt away into the sight of the lab room’s ceiling, his classmates’ amused faces, and a reproving snap of _bad dog_ from Crewel. When reality remained stubbornly in place, though, he figured he should fill in some of the gaps Riddle felt he didn’t need to explain, for whatever reason, and said, “I just don’t understand why you’re asking me.” 

“That’s because…well…” For the first time since he accosted Ace at the entrance and said they needed to talk, Riddle faltered, his gaze dipping to the floor. “After everything that—happened, at the start of this year, I did quite a bit of thinking when I went back home for the holidays. I realized there’s a lot I haven’t experienced, either because I wasn’t afforded the chance to, or my own actions pushed people away. There’s a lot I want to try. What I’m asking you is one of those things.” 

“Okay.” That made sense. Based on Trey’s description of Riddle’s childhood, Ace didn’t think it afforded any room for opportunities to date or kiss or do much of anything related to romance or sex. What _didn’t_ make sense was why Riddle was asking _Ace_ , specifically. He was a great catch, thank you very much, but as much as it hurt his pride to admit, he didn’t ever assume he’d be first on Riddle’s list of potential candidates to experiment with. “I don’t know who told you what, but I’m not an expert, or something, if that’s what you’re looking for.” 

“It’s not.” Riddle frowned. “And no one told me anything. Besides that you’re not as completely naive as me to all of this. I didn’t ask you because I thought you were incredibly experienced.” 

“Then why _did_ you ask me?” 

“You fit certain criteria. You know enough we won’t both be fumbling through the dark at the start, but not so knowledgeable that it’s intimidating. I know you well, but not so well that things could get awkward later.” 

“Thanks, dorm head, it’s nice to know I tick all of those really important boxes—”

“And,” Riddle continued, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits that made Ace shut his mouth immediately. “With this, especially, I don’t want to be flattered or humored. I trust you most of all not to do that.” 

“A little bit of flattery’s required, you know.” Unfortunately, Riddle didn’t seem to find much humor in that, but he didn’t rebuke Ace either. He simply returned to waiting, arms folded again while Ace watched him, and how the line of his shoulders tensed more and more as the silence wore on. There were a dozen different reasons not to agree to this, like there was no way this wasn’t going to end up a complete mess, or there was some definite conflict of interest somewhere, but—this was Riddle. Their uncompromising and impeccable dorm head, as far above them all as the Queen of Hearts handing out verdicts from her throne. And he’d come to Ace first, offering up a piece of himself that no one else possessed. Ace’s body seized on that impulse, that thought more tempting than any confectionary, before any remaining scraps of logical self-preservation could pull him back from the brink. Besides, his previous relationships had kind of imploded because of mismatched expectations, so maybe this whole no-strings-attached thing would be better. “Alright. Sure. Let’s do it.” 

“You’re agreeing?” Riddle jerked back, brief and sudden, like he hadn’t expected a positive response at all, but his recovery was as quick as the gesture, and a beat later he swept past Ace to head into the dormitory hallways. “Then follow me. I don’t want to have any more of this conversation in a common room. I’m to understand you lay ground rules at the start of these sorts of arrangements?” 

“Ah. I should’ve known you’d be really gung-ho about that part,” Ace quipped, which earned him a sour look from Riddle tossed over his shoulder as Ace followed the other through the corridor. Fortunately, they didn’t run into anyone who would care to stop and question what they were up to, and the brisk pace Riddle set meant that within a minute they were in his personal room with the door safely shut behind them, away from any more prying eyes or ears. 

“Number one,” Riddle started, sliding the lock in place with a _click_ , “we keep this between us. Number two, if either of us wants to stop at any time, we do, no questions asked.”

“Is number three we’re not allowed to kiss?” 

“No. Why would it be? That’s something I want to do.” 

“I dunno. In movies and comics about this, it’s a common rule.” Ace shrugged, at a loss to explain himself in the face of Riddle’s inquiring look. “To keep things casual. I haven’t done this friends with benefits thing before, so I’m guessing here.”

“I see.” Riddle considered this, a faint frown creasing his features. “Is that a rule you’d like to make?” 

“No.” He didn’t even need to have his eyes drawn to the way Riddle had his index finger pressed against his lips in thought, the black leather of their uniform gloves a nearly lurid contrast against the pink of his mouth, to give that answer. “I don’t have any in mind at all.” 

“If you think of one, speak up.” Pushing himself off the door, Riddle moved further into the room, speaking as he went. “Number three is no staying in my room overnight. Number four is that we text to set up these meetings only, we don’t have conversations about it outside.” 

“Dorm head, how long is this list? I think I get the gist already—” 

“Number five is don’t call me that,” Riddle snapped, turning on his heel to stare Ace down. “It’s ‘Riddle,’ here. Calling me by a title might keep an appropriate distance to you, but I think it would be strange to hear, considering what we’ll be doing.” 

“I don’t mind.” He didn’t, really, even if it would take some getting used to, and besides, there was still a line drawn if he used “Riddle” only when they were alone and “dorm head” everywhere else, right? “Is that it?” 

“For now. If any others come up as we go, I’ll be sure to mention it. But if we’re getting started, what do you want me to do?” 

“Wait, we’re doing this now? Right now?” 

“When else?” Riddle remarked, squinting, like Ace had just asked if water happened to be wet. “Do you need time to gather your courage?” 

“No! No, definitely not.” Despite his earlier impatience, Ace found his thoughts had scrambled with the reality of the situation bearing down on him, one he couldn’t have even fathomed would be the direction his day would take when he dragged himself drowsily out of bed that morning. Riddle kept looking at him with one eyebrow quirked in puzzlement, awaiting a direction or suggestion or _something_ other than Ace standing there blankly. “Could you, uh, close your eyes?”

Riddle appeared mildly bemused by the instruction, but did as told regardless after removing and setting his gloves aside, affording Ace the small mercy of not being watched while he walked over and—and would kiss Riddle, eventually, when he wasn’t stalled out at the logistics of it, unsure where to put his hands or if he should give a warning, or something. He’d done this before, done it enough times that there shouldn’t be a problem at all, but somehow his heart was rattling against the cage of his ribs, pounding harder than it ever had, even with his first girlfriend and her sweetly expectant look after a date. Overthinking had never been his strong suit, thankfully, and although nerves had him wound so tight he thought he must be shaking, his hand was steady when he cupped it against Riddle’s cheek as an anchor. Riddle flinched at the touch, startled, but he didn’t pull away or open his eyes, and Ace took that as a sign to stop hesitating, to dip down and brush a soft kiss to Riddle’s lips.

At first, there was no response—positive or negative—from Riddle, just a sharp little inhale, but he started to relax in increments as the seconds ticked on, as Ace held the kiss, shuffling a step closer and tilting his head so the angle was better. He could feel more than hear the way Riddle’s breath quickened with the slide of their mouths together, a trembling whisper of air against his face and a matching flutter under his hand as he settled it against Riddle’s waist. 

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but somewhere between the warmth of a blush he could feel under the fingers he had pressed to Riddle’s cheek and the realization that he was close enough to catch the crisp scent of Riddle’s shampoo, the tentative and exploratory kiss boiled over into something burning, into Ace running his tongue along the seam of Riddle’s lips and tugging the other firm and flush against him. His pulse kicked up, reverberating the way a good bassline in a song did, when Riddle opened his mouth on a gasp and Ace licked his way inside, finally, pleasure fizzing in his bloodstream from the velvet heat of it. 

Stuttering and a little clumsy to start, Riddle mirrored his movements, the slip and curl of their tongues together, but in no time at all he grew insistent, gripping the lapels of Ace’s uniform blazer and pulling at him, a tacit demand for—what, Ace didn’t know. The pressure already felt bruising and they were pressed hip to hip. At the next overeager yank, Ace let their mouths slide apart, slick and easy, enough he could catch Riddle’s lower lip between both of his and suck at it until he heard Riddle moan, high and trembling, the sound as sweet and heady as a sugar rush. He didn’t know when his hand had snuck under Riddle’s jacket, the full breadth of his palm pressing against the small of Riddle’s back, but he used the opportunity to untuck Riddle’s shirt and dart underneath. 

“Ace,” Riddle sighed, the shiver that jolted through him at the touch of Ace’s fingers along his spine seeping into his voice. “Kiss me again—” 

Ace didn’t need to be told twice, and tilted his head until their mouths slotted together, messy and deep and so dizzyingly good Ace had to wonder how he was still standing. Any of the hesitation from before had long been burned up in the heat between them, and Riddle clutched at him, restlessly, fingers curling around the nape of Ace’s neck and squeezing, nails digging in enough to leave half-moon reminders that would last hours afterwards. Every sound Riddle made, every little gasp or hum was muffled against the kiss, and as incredible as Riddle’s tongue rolling against the roof of his mouth felt, Ace wanted to hear the other’s voice unimpeded. 

So he moved to do something he ardently pretended he didn’t daydream about dozens upon dozens of times in dorm meetings or cross-year classes, and that was to reach up to undo the bow of Riddle’s tie, pop open the first, second button of his shirt one-handed, and trail a line of butterfly kisses down the column of Riddle’s neck to his collarbone. What reality improved on was the way Riddle leaned forward, chasing Ace’s mouth when he pulled away, any protests he’d been about to make immediately melting into a quiet noise of pleasure at the sensation of lips on his throat. It rose in pitch when Ace added suction, thready and sharp, and peaked even more with teeth. But a little too long, a little too much later, it turned into an unhappy _ow_ , and before Ace could ease up on his own, Riddle had pulled himself out of Ace’s grip and slapped a hand over his neck. 

“Sorry. Sorry, was that—” Ace blinked, rapidly, trying to reorient himself when he’d been suddenly left bereft of Riddle’s body pressed along the length of his own. “I didn’t mean to do it that hard.” 

“It’s…fine,” Riddle said, breathlessly, staring back at Ace with a dark pink flush still splotched across his cheeks, lips slick with spit and cherry red, and the sight sent Ace’s stomach swooping the same way descending too fast on a broom did. “I was mostly surprised. And I think it might have been a good idea we stopped, before we got too carried away.” 

“Right.” That sounded like the correct thing to say, but Ace was having trouble remembering why that was the case when the temptation to bridge the distance between them and take another kiss still sang to him. 

“Will this bruise?” Experimentally, Riddle prodded at the spot left behind, thumb pressing over the pulse at his throat, and Ace had to swallow before he could speak again. 

“It might?” He wanted it to. 

“Hm.” Riddle’s lips quirked down into a faint grimace, and he slowly dropped his hand away from his neck. “I may have to make another rule about that.” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“It’s not about that,” Riddle snapped, but the tips of his ears turned red and Ace decided it was safe to assume the answer was _no, I do_. “If you bite me wherever _you_ want, then _I_ have the problem of covering up those marks so no one figures anything out. You’ll be giving me trouble.” 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Ace placated, reluctantly. “I’ll be more careful next time.” 

“See that you are.” For a long moment, all Riddle did was watch Ace, quiet and inscrutable, before he turned away and began doing up his shirt buttons and tie. “I’ll contact you. About the next time, that is.” 

“Oh. Sure. I’ll…see you then? Or sooner. Whenever.” Any other time, Ace would be more concerned about sounding so fumbling and uncool, but there didn’t seem to be any room inside of him for much else besides a creeping state of shock. Riddle shot him an amused glance, and nothing else. 

Ace had no idea how he made it back to his dorm room, and he especially didn’t know how he made it back without dazedly walking into a wall or open door. Only one of his roommates was present when he entered, and when he raised his head to greet Ace as usual, his eyebrows immediately furrowed in concern. 

“Are you okay? You look super out of it.” 

“I’m good, I’m good. Just tired.” Ace laughed, and hoped it sounded airy rather than strained. “I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up in an hour, okay?” 

“I’m not your alarm clock,” his roommate replied, sullenly, but he turned around to his homework at his desk, leaving Ace to flop onto his bed and have a miniature meltdown in peace. 

Sleeping was out of the question when the moment he closed his eyes, his mind conjured up the ghost sensation of Riddle’s mouth on his, so instead, he stared at the wall and tried to will his still-wired nerves to settle. 

It felt unbelievable, mostly, like a dream that lingered too long after waking, the edges of reality not fitting together properly, but the sting of the cuts Riddle’s nails made on his neck was _there_ , pain present and unignorable. A bit hypocritical for Riddle to complain about having to cover up evidence when Ace was left with this, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind, and reached up a hand to touch one of the indents he could feel just under his hairline. They might last until next time, whenever that was, and the more Ace thought about that, the more the surprise started creeping away, evaporating in little wisps to leave behind anticipation in their wake. 

In the end, maybe something good did come out of dealing with all the selfish, troublesome whims of those ghosts. 

*****

Riddle, as Ace learned, really liked kissing. _Really_ liked it. To the point of bruising, to the point the first time they did anything that wasn’t just making out happened because Riddle would not let him go, and Ace had gotten frustrated enough to unfasten their pants and take both their cocks in hand, until Riddle finally broke away with a soft, keening moan when he came. Not that Ace genuinely had a problem with it, since kissing Riddle was like biting into a piece of ripe fruit every time, press and give into something lush and sweet under his mouth. 

There were a lot of little things like that Ace figured out, about where Riddle enjoyed being touched, being kissed, being bitten. About his tells and habits, how his voice went breathless and ragged when he was about to come, or how he’d rake his fingers through Ace’s hair until it was hopelessly mussed, but never yanked on it, even when, like now, his cock was sitting heavy on Ace’s tongue. That had also taken some getting used to, for the both of them. It hadn’t been too long ago when Riddle stumbled through keeping his teeth out of the way, and Ace had to work through watering eyes from an overactive gag reflex, but while nothing was going all the way down his throat anytime soon, he’d at least gotten to the point he could handle Riddle’s hips jerking unexpectedly, even _liked_ it, chased a hit of that smug high tingling through him whenever he broke a bit of the other’s usual ironclad self control.

On the next time he sank his mouth down, he could feel Riddle’s thighs tremble against his shoulders from the effort it took not to squeeze them together, and Ace hummed, smoothing the thumb of one hand across the bend of Riddle’s knee. The bracketing cage of Riddle’s pretty, slender legs added another dimension to his reactions, every flex and shudder urging Ace to take a little more, go a little further than before, until Ace swallowed the saliva pooling his mouth, and his throat fluttered around the head of Riddle’s cock in the same motion. Above him, Riddle choked out a noise that edged on a whine, heels drumming once, twice, against Ace’s back, like he was trying to find purchase, an anchor in something, and couldn’t. 

“Do that again,” he panted, tone frayed enough to get Ace to cast his gaze upwards, drinking in the spots of deep red staining his cheeks, the way his eyelashes kept fluttering. “Ace, do that again, _do that again_.” 

There was, as Ace had also learned, a thread-thin line between commanding and begging that had nothing to do with if the word _please_ was involved, a line Riddle toed every time he got too worked up. It would be a pressure point, leverage used to tease or preen after the fact, but Ace’s brain sloshing around in the heady warmth of lust never managed to direct him to do anything besides whatever Riddle asked of him. So he dragged his mouth up Riddle’s cock again and barely paused, tongue sweeping over the slit, the taste of precome lingering all through the slide back down, through another swallow that made Riddle tip his head against the couch with a soft, shaky moan. 

The rhythm he eventually reached didn’t have all that much finesse, honestly; he was still in uncharted territory, and as stupid and lightheaded with desire as Ace felt, he didn’t actually want to choke. But while the bob of his head might have been slower or sloppier than usual, the extra stimulation seemed to make up the difference, if the way Riddle was humming with tension was any indication. He curled his toes at the peak of Ace’s mouth sliding up or down his cock, his heels shifting on either side of Ace’s spine with every arch of his feet, breath hitching on the inhale, and Ace hollowed his cheeks on the next pass just to hear those gasps crumble into the syllable of his name. 

Riddle still had a hand in his hair, the lightest scratch of nails against his scalp and fingers combing through in a motion that had long been on autopilot felt unfairly good, soothing and electric all at once in the way it drew Ace’s attention away from the ache in his jaw and also sent little frissons down his spine, the touch evoking thoughts of other places he wanted Riddle’s fingers to be. It pulled a moan out of him, the sound muffled, and Riddle twitched against his tongue from the vibrations. 

Pulling away slightly, Ace moved one hand over to wrap around the base of Riddle’s cock where the skim and suction of his mouth could no longer reach, just in time for all the pitchy, undone noises escaping Riddle to tip over into a garbled warning. His legs seized up before he came, ankles crossing and clenching against Ace’s back, like Riddle was trying to hold him in place even if he had no plans of moving. By the time Ace had finished swallowing, quick as he was able to, so as not to linger too long on the taste, Riddle had already released him, thighs sliding trembling and boneless off his shoulders, followed by the quiet _thud_ of Riddle’s feet hitting the floor. 

Ace sat back on his heels, trying to catch his breath, and wondered how long his lips were going to feel this numb. From the couch, Riddle had slumped over to rest in the cushion of his folded arms, but he had settled himself so he was still able to watch Ace from where he was on the floor with one eye. 

“What?” Ace asked, and was surprised to hear how rough his voice sounded to his own ears. At that, Riddle slowly lifted his head and smiled, and only their impeccable dorm head could manage to make that gesture imperious after being blissed out from getting sucked off.

“Good job,” Riddle said, reaching out to touch the corner of Ace’s mouth, and that praise shouldn’t have gone to Ace’s dick as fast as it did. “Come here.” 

He did as told and stood a little stiffly, knees protesting being straightened back out after he’d been kneeling for so long, but it was just a few steps before he could drop down on the cushion next to Riddle. Almost immediately, the other was urging him into a kiss, undoing the clasp and zipper to Ace’s pants, and Ace barely had time to register the relief brought on by the confines of his uniform slacks and boxers being tugged away before he felt Riddle’s fingers wrap around his cock. His touch was warm and eager, easy from how slick Ace was from precome already, which Riddle seemed to like, because the pleased hum he made into Ace’s mouth as he started to pump his hand sounded dangerously like the one he made after the first forkful of a tart. The last thing Ace needed was the problem of getting aroused at a tea party from the association, but he wasn’t thinking that far ahead—wasn’t thinking much at all, beyond how Riddle’s thumb circling the head of his cock sent sparks zipping along every nerve. 

The kiss had turned sloppy, barely-there brush of lips together as Ace’s focus was drawn instead to rocking his hips up shallowly into the grip around him. He felt dizzy, pulled too taut, the measured pace of Riddle’s strokes keeping him caught and suspended at the edge. 

“Riddle—” Anything he had been about to say, to plead for something more or demand to know if the other was doing this on purpose, fell away into a sharp moan when Riddle squeezed him a fraction. There was a stutter in the pace as Riddle adjusted, twisting his wrist so on the next quicker upstroke, his thumb ran over the ridge on the underside of Ace’s cock, and the motion might as well have been turning a dial for how it jolted the warmth pooling in Ace’s stomach up to molten heat in an instant. Distantly, he felt the weight distribution on the couch shift as Riddle nestled closer, pressing a kiss to a spot under the hinge of Ace’s jaw, and Ace didn’t have enough time to clutch at some part of Riddle, or touch his hair or trace along the peek of collarbone revealed by his open uniform shirt, before he was coming with a low noise in the back of his throat, shuddering like each nerve in his body had been plucked at once. 

Sagging into the cushions, Ace stared up dazedly at the ceiling, tying to focus his blurred vision once the aftershocks of his orgasm subsided. It wasn’t until Riddle shifted and spoke to him that he bothered to lift himself up into a proper sitting posture. 

“Here, there’s tissues to clean up with.” Somehow, in the time it had taken for Ace to recover, every bit of Riddle’s uniform had been set back into place, buttons all done up and tie in a neat bow and slacks fastened. The only hint at what they’d been doing remained in the blush clinging stubbornly to his cheeks. Ace wanted to tell him he could probably afford to linger in the afterglow a little more, if he felt like it, but that seemed like it would be crossing some kind of unspoken friends with benefits line. 

“Thanks,” Ace said instead, a rasp still stuck in his voice, and Riddle watched him take some tissues from the offered box with a frown. 

“Does your throat hurt?” 

“No, it’s just—” Ace tried to clear it, to no avail. “It’s just like that, I guess.” 

“Hold on.” Riddle stood and pulled out his magic pen from his blazer pocket. With a few waves, a water bottle flew into sight from elsewhere in the room, hovering just within Ace’s reach. Ace waited for the lid to unscrew itself with a few slow twists, and he was finished zipping up his pants again, before taking the bottle and drinking from it, not realizing how thirsty he’d been until he started. By the time he came up for air, the water was more than half gone. “Is that better?” 

“Much,” Ace replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Most of the roughness had smoothed out, and Riddle perched on the edge of the couch again, apparently satisfied. “How do you do that? When I try to open something with a lid, I just knock whatever it is over.” 

“Because you don’t practice the fundamentals. Try lifting and putting down objects, or stirring a spoon around, before you do anything more complex.” Riddle crossed his legs, and folded his hands on top of his knees. “You could start with mixing honey into tea. It would help with your voice.” 

“I told you, it doesn’t hurt.” Returning the cap to the water bottle, Ace set it aside and leaned forward, attempting to catch Riddle’s gaze. “Are you worried about me?” 

“If someone asks why you sound like that, what will your explanation be?” Riddle shot back, unamused. 

“That I’m coming down with something? It’s not that big of a deal.” Ace shrugged, but Riddle looked unconvinced. It wasn’t as though he wanted to be fussed over, exactly, but it stung a little, like the prick of the thorns on the garden’s rosebushes, to know that Riddle’s concern lay _only_ with making sure no one grew suspicious. “I’ll go have some if it matters that much to you.” 

“Herbal.” Riddle’s shoulders relaxed and Ace tried and failed to keep any of the sourness biting at him from showing on his face. “By the time you get around to it, it will be past the hour when black tea is allowed in rule number—”

“Yes, yes, dorm head,” Ace intoned, and immediately had to put his hands up in placation when Riddle’s expression turned stormy. “We’re technically done! I didn’t break a rule!”

“Then it’s also time you should be leaving, if we’re finished.” 

“Right.” Heaving a sigh, Ace pushed himself off the couch and started for the door. To his surprise, Riddle followed after him. That was rare, and he didn’t get an answer as to why until he was already out in the hallway, hand halfway into his pocket for his phone so he could check what notifications he’d missed while he was busy. 

“Ace,” Riddle said, peering out from a narrow wedge of space in the doorway. The look he leveled at Ace was firm, but there was a waver in the set of his mouth, like he was biting the inside of his lower lip. “If you do feel worse, be sure to let me know.” 

The door swung shut, solid and uncompromising, and any startled questions about what exactly Riddle meant by that died out before Ace could voice them. He stood there longer than he should, waiting for some kind of follow up, the other shoe to drop, but when none came, Ace turned and slowly made his way to the end of the hallway, staring down the stairs that would lead him to the kitchen. He had some tea to make, after all. 

*****  
Honestly, he was probably a little addicted. And like any good addict, Ace insisted he could stop at any time, yet after every _are you free today?_ text he found himself at the door to Riddle’s room, being pulled inside by a hand at his wrist and a sweet, eager smile. 

The worry that they were meeting up too much lasted for all of five minutes during an incredibly boring lecture in magical history. For one thing, the reward definitely outweighed the risk for him at this point, and for another, it might have been a bigger concern if it seemed like anyone else was getting wise. There was one incident where Vil trapped him in an empty hallway, leaned so close he was sure the other could see into the depths of his pores, and asked if Ace had started a new skincare regimen. When Ace answered in the negative, Vil sighed, full of disappointment, and said, “must really be endorphins, then,” before swanning away. While terrifying, nothing else came of that snag, and if any of their other friends or classmates had caught on, they hadn’t mentioned a thing. 

So it was easy to keep saying yes, easy to keep falling into bed together, easy to keep indulging in all of Riddle, in how his pleasure flush reached up to his ears, how Ace’s hands fit perfectly at the curve of his waist. Riddle wasn’t nearly thin enough for Ace’s thumbs to touch, but he was still slender and soft and provoked thoughts on whether or not bruises on hips counted as breaking Sex Friends Rule Number Six. Ace wanted to, wanted to so much it burned, wanted the imprint of himself left over so later, when they were apart, Riddle would remember the way Ace used the grip to hold him still, keep the angle right when Ace drove into him, deep and full. 

At each thrust, Riddle made a high, hiccuping moan, like Ace was fucking the sounds out of him, but he was still asking for it harder, and _harder, Ace, more,_ until the pace had Riddle’s knees sliding on the bedsheets, one hand scrabbling for support against the headboard. It must have been enough, because on the next grind forward, Riddle didn’t _say_ anything, just gave a fluttering gasp and clenched down, blanking out Ace’s thoughts and sending his rhythm stuttering. 

“Ah, shit.” Ace wondered if he panted out steam along with the words, the heat surging through him downright feverish. Sweat beaded at his temples, dripped a path to his jaw, and he watched a matching motion of it at the nape of Riddle’s neck. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the same spot, tasting salt and earning a full-body shiver in response. There was an echo of that shudder in Ace’s core, a thrill of pleasure with a hungry edge, and Ace didn’t understand how he could still somehow want while getting everything he could wish for. Distantly, the thought of _that’s probably a good definition of having it bad for somebody_ floated and then popped like a soap bubble in his mind, but beneath him, Riddle was squirming, trying to shift his hips back to get Ace deeper again, and that distracted him from everything else. 

“Don’t you dare stop,” Riddle managed, voice a half-step above a whisper and nearly lost in the other noise between them, of skin slapping together and the pulse thudding in Ace’s ears. 

“I’m not _gonna_.” Maybe he should have been more frustrated than that over Riddle being so demanding, over Riddle complaining at the minute change of Ace bending over, but he wasn’t. He just nuzzled in against Riddle’s hair for a beat and straightened again, the next grind of his hips hard enough any further protests from Riddle were dissolved into a sharp gasp. 

Ace flexed his hands against Riddle’s waist, sliding one up, along the ridges of his ribs, the edge of his shoulder blades, before finally trailing along the valley in the middle, feeling the notches of Riddle’s vertebrae. The position they were in made it impossible to gauge anything by facial expression, but there were plenty of other tells for what he liked, what he wanted, in the breathless pitch of Riddle’s voice, in the way he tightened up when Ace’s fingers skimmed over the small of his back in their wandering. 

It was good, it was all _so_ good, the soft, clinging heat of Riddle’s body around him, the molten pleasure every thrust sent dripping down his spine to gather in the pit of his stomach—every taste, every morsel of something decadent only made him crave another, and another after that. Never enough. He was tipsy with it, like sun stroke without the sickness, just the haze blanketing his mind and a hot flush spreading through him, a match dragged across the striker until Riddle made a low, broken noise in the back of his throat, barely scraped out a murmured “touch me,” and Ace felt ablaze. 

Riddle’s shoulders trembled when Ace obeyed, like his arms were going to give out at any moment, at the next pump into him or stroke of Ace’s hand on his cock, before his elbows did finally buckle and sent him tipping forward into the pillows. The sounds Riddle made were muffled by the layers of fabric and filling, but Ace still caught the shape of his own name there, wrapped up in the other moans, and something burning sizzled beneath his skin at each one. Biting out a curse under his breath, he quickened the pace of his hand and Riddle stuttered, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to rock his hips more into Ace’s sure grip or onto his cock, but Ace didn’t wait for him to make the choice. He kept going, kept rubbing his fingers and thumb in all the right spots, kept up a quickly unraveling rhythm through Riddle stilling and shuddering around him with a gasp that cracked in the middle. 

Come dripped warm and slick down his hand, and in the aftermath, Riddle went so boneless that Ace instinctively moved to hold him up, smearing the mess along his hip. And it was—too much, to be the only thing keeping Riddle from entirely collapsing onto the bed, that he was too tired or felt too good to say or do anything about it and just _let_ Ace’s hold keep part of him upright. It made him woozy, head spinning like he was oxygen deprived even if he could hear himself panting, and the tension of his building orgasm coiled a little tighter inside of him at each thrust, finally snapping in a sharp surge of heat Ace felt down to his toes and fingertips. Under him, Riddle made a hitched sound of surprise at the feeling of Ace’s cock throbbing inside, but it seemed far away and unfocused, like the edges of Ace’s vision going blurry. He blinked, and blinked again, and the world righted itself barely enough he could manage pulling out, dealing with the condom, and wiping off his hands before dropping down to the bed, laying across the mattress sideways so he wouldn’t be in danger of crushing Riddle entirely.

His sense of time was skewed in the numb, cottony bliss that lingered after sex, but around the time the sweat started cooling off and his breathing no longer sounded as harsh as it did when he just came off the court, he realized Riddle hadn’t said a single word. Usually the moment they were both recovered, he was nudging Ace to get cleaned up and dressed and on his way, so the silence was unusual. Reluctantly, Ace pushed himself into a sitting position to better see Riddle. The other was lying in roughly the same position Ace left him when he’d thrown away the condom, resting on his arms folded on top of the pillows, legs relaxed but slightly askew. He didn’t fall asleep or pass out, did he? 

“Riddle?” 

“Hm?” He shifted, lifting his head and turning it back and forth, like he expected Ace to be on either side of him, before he finally casted a glance over his shoulder. “What is it?” 

“Nothing. Checking if you were sleeping.”

“Oh. No. I’m just a little—” Riddle waved his hand in a vague circle. “Lightheaded. I’m fine.”

“That good, huh?” 

“Take a look in the mirror before you act all smug.” 

“What does _that_ mean?” Ace asked, and Riddle didn’t answer him at first, deciding to stretch luxuriously instead, arms coming back around one of the pillows and pulling it against his chest. 

“You look like you’re drunk,” Riddle said, finally, tone warm and superior enough there might have been a _and it’s cute_ left unspoken. 

“I do not.” Grumbling, Ace pushed himself upright and scooted to the edge of the bed, if only to prove to himself and Riddle that he could totally stand and walk a straight line to his scattered clothing. Which he did, except for a single stumble when he tried to change direction too quickly to nab his second sock. 

Riddle hummed and watched him dress, which Ace would find more unsettling if the other’s gaze wasn’t quite so hazy, staring through Ace rather than at him as he did up the buttons to his shirt and slacks. It was a rarity to see Riddle bask and laze around dreamily after fucking—rare enough Ace found himself drinking in the sight a bit, from the languid movement of Riddle’s limbs to the come still streaked across one side of his waist, and because that sent sparks of arousal casting down Ace’s back, he pointedly looked away, not daring to imagine a round two, no matter how picture-perfect Riddle was laid out over the rumpled sheets. 

“Wait,” he heard Riddle say from behind him. “Let me get up and make myself at least a bit more presentable before you go throwing open the door for anyone standing out in the hall.” 

“You don’t have to move, I can check.” Fishing out his magical pen from his blazer pocket, Ace pointed it at the door and cast a spell. There was no feedback, none of the pop-crackle sensation from a fellow magician, or at least nobody near enough it would matter in the next five minutes or so. “All clear.” 

“You can manage that, but can’t twist the cap off a bottle or jar? I’m not praising that kind of lopsided accomplishment.” 

“Stingy,” Ace complained, clicking his tongue, but Riddle just laughed at him, soft and amused and Ace finally turned to look at him properly again, catching a small smile that remained until Riddle turned his face more into the pillow he was holding. It felt ill-gotten in the best way, like sneaking the cherry from the top of Deuce’s cream soda in Mostro Lounge, something made tastier because he wasn’t supposed to have it in the first place. He wondered what else he could get, what sort of things Riddle would say during pillow talk, if he let it happen. 

It wasn’t as though they didn’t hang out or chat outside of the bedroom, of course. There were study sessions and lunches and walking back to the dorms if they ran into each other after clubs, but all of that was different, in another context. Ace knew the Riddle in front of him was a Riddle he had for only a short while, and perhaps a part of his habit was because he was chasing after _this_ , a smile and look to Riddle only Ace knew. 

And that was bad, probably. Possibly. Ace was fairly certain anyone would be self-satisfied at seeing a vulnerable side to someone usually so strict. There was no fervent pining, no butterflies, nothing crossing the big red line, and Ace ignored every niggling, doubting thought that pointed out he might not even know the danger signs of really falling for someone when all his previous relationships fizzled out so fast. He wasn’t going to decline Riddle’s invitations for a _maybe_. 

“Shouldn’t you be going?” Riddle prompted, and Ace startled, wondering how long he’d been zoning out for. “If the hall is empty, like you say. It won’t stay that way.” 

“Right. I should.” He should, he definitely, absolutely should, but Riddle was staring at him still, eyes that pretty, clear blue-gray that reminded Ace of dormant magic-mirror glass, and he wanted more time, just a tick longer in the space where the world outside ceased to matter. But the vaguely expectant look on the other’s face was slowly turning to puzzled as Ace stood there, unmoving, and he didn’t know if he could answer properly if Riddle asked him what the hell did he think he was doing. “I’ll see you later, dorm head.” 

Boundaries maintained, Ace gave Riddle a short wave before making his way out into the corridor, quickly and quietly shutting the door behind him. As expected, no one was there, but he could hear distant voices laughing and chatting somewhere else in the dorm, and it must have been the afterglow clinging particularly stubborn to make the awareness of others feel like it broke a spell. Ace shook his head, dusting the rest of it off—the mugginess, the fatigue, the tiny, needling regrets—and headed back to his own room. 

***** 

The first time it happened, he was fresh out of basketball practice. He could have told Riddle that his schedule was too tight to meet up, but of course he didn’t because he didn’t _want_ to say no, and so he ended up at Riddle’s with hair still damp from a hasty shower and his thighs still aching from defensive drills. 

Riddle bore into him with a narrow-eyed, searching look for such a stretch that Ace thought he was going to be turned away, but eventually, Riddle tugged him down into a kiss, lush and hot enough Ace forgot everything else besides Riddle’s mouth and tongue and getting out of his clothes as fast as possible. But he’d barely slipped his pants off when he felt a push, lost his balance, and landed back on the bed. Disoriented, he laid there unmoving for a beat, until he felt a weight settle on his waist and noticed Riddle was straddling him, eyes lidded and pupils lust-blown already. 

“You got plans?” Ace asked, incredulously, unable to help the heavy sigh that escaped him when Riddle dragged a hand down his chest and over his stomach, muscles fluttering under the other’s fingers. 

“Just one,” Riddle said, smiling. “You seem tired.” 

“I, uh, just came from club, but it’s not—” 

“So, I’ll do a lot of the work. If you wanted this that badly. Besides…” He leaned down to take another kiss, hips shifting forward in the same motion, and swallowed the moan Ace made at the friction. “It’s fun being able to feel what you like most like this.” 

“Oh, shit,” was all Ace managed for a while, because his brain overloaded from Riddle admitting he enjoyed sitting in Ace’s lap to feel him get hard, and he could blame his short-circuited thoughts for what he said next. “What do you need the practice for anymore if you can say stuff like that?”

“I wonder.” Riddle kept touching him, fingertips gliding over his shoulders and down his arms in feathery, wandering loops, but he kept his face hidden in the crook of Ace’s neck for a pause lengthy enough Ace opened his mouth to ask about it. Before he could, Riddle rolled his hips down again, slow and fluid, and all of Ace’s words tumbled into a sharp gasp instead. There wasn’t a hint of anything pinched or forlorn in Riddle’s expression when he sat up, either, just the quirk of another smile and keen glimmer in his eyes. “Help me out of the rest of my clothes?” 

He phrased it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t one at all. Not that Ace minded, in the end, and even if desire made him hasty, his hands were still sure and efficient in undoing the buttons of Riddle’s vest and shirt. Once loosened, Riddle shrugged each garment off, dropping them over the edge of the bed with a surprising amount of carelessness, but Ace already found his focus drifting to all the bare skin that had been revealed, as soft and warm as ever. When he slipped his thumbs under the waistband of Riddle’s underwear, the other shifted his weight to his knees, lifting himself up from Ace’s lap and taking all that friction away, but Ace still traced a languid line along the curve of Riddle’s ass and the backs of his thighs as he slid the fabric down, relishing every little shiver he could elicit. Eventually, he ran out of room, and Riddle had to move away entirely in order to climb out of the last bit of clothing he still had on. He didn’t immediately return to the bed after he finished, but the reason was obvious when Ace heard the rattle of a drawer opening somewhere beside him, and he caught the sight of a bottle and glint of a square foil wrapper Riddle set aside on the mattress when he finally resettled himself over Ace’s waist. 

There was barely anything between them now, only the cotton of Ace’s boxers, and the heat of Riddle so close made Ace press his palms to the small of Riddle’s back, trying to guide him forward, but the other didn’t budge, keeping his hands firmly braced against Ace’s shoulders as a wedge. 

“Hey, c’mon. You can’t seriously want me to just lie here.” 

“For now,” Riddle said, deigning to stroke two fingers along Ace’s collarbone and higher, up the pulse line in his throat to rest under his chin, and Ace was distinctly reminded of descriptions of knighting and royal acknowledgments, of swords and scepters touching the gentry as permission to look up. It sent a scorching thrill through him as much as he wanted to see Riddle come apart at the seams. “Maybe you can learn some self-restraint while you’re at it.” 

“I’m being nice offering reciprocation, here.” He thought to be mutinous at first, to see what Riddle would do, if he’d go further than simply keeping himself out of easy reach, but Riddle gripped Ace’s jaw and squeezed, turning his head until their eyes met, a tacit _just watch_ in the gesture. And Ace did, gaze following Riddle as he grabbed the bottle he’d placed beside them earlier and popped open the cap. The angle was all wrong for him to see Riddle sink one of those slick fingers into himself, but Ace tried anyway, shifting and craning his neck as much as he dared, until Riddle made a low, wavering sound and Ace’s attention snapped up to his face, to his mouth falling open and lashes fluttering. The stripe of color along Riddle’s cheekbones deepened and spread like ink the longer Ace looked, the blush seeping down to his neck, and Ace followed the line lower, to the hitch of Riddle’s shoulders as his breathing picked up.

It was mesmerizing and a small torture both to watch Riddle work himself open over Ace’s lap, because for every enticing gasp and shiver and swipe of Riddle’s tongue over his bottom lip, Ace knew what all of them were caused by, knew exactly how it felt to have Riddle hot and clinging around his hand. Knew how to earn a certain moan that sounded like it was wrung out of Riddle whenever Ace crooked his fingers just so, the sharp little _ah_ he was making right then, and it wasn’t _fair_. Some of that frustration must have shown on his face, because Riddle’s smile canted up into a grin. He was obviously having too much fun being a tease, assured in the way that only came with Riddle being at ease and knowledgeable about the boundaries and workings of something. The kind of confidence anyone Riddle could want would find desirable, and a twinge sharper than annoyance pricked Ace at the thought. He didn’t have to linger on it long; there was a growing impatience palpable in the subtle rock of Riddle’s hips, the tense, quick movements of the arm that dipped out of Ace’s view, and that was all much nicer to focus on. Experimentally, he dropped his touch lower, grip digging into the plush of Riddle’s ass more than his back, and earned a prod from Riddle’s knees into the base of his ribs as a warning. 

“Here.” He lifted up the hand he had braced against Ace’s chest, surprisingly balanced even without it, and Ace would have made a comment about if what Riddle did for club happened to be helpful in this situation, but a condom packet hitting his sternum a second later was enough of a distraction that he stayed quiet. “If you need to keep your hands occupied.” 

“I don’t.” More accurately, he’d rather they were occupied with Riddle instead, but he worked on tearing open the foil without much complaint, since it meant things were moving along and he might get some relief from the itching anticipation that simmered just under his skin sometime soon. 

He was so overheated, the tepid air of the room felt cool against him when Riddle slid his boxers down and off, tossing them aside to land in the mismatched pile with the rest of the clothes. Wordlessly, Ace handed over the open packet and Riddle finished the job of plucking out the condom and rolling it on without preamble. The touch along his length alone sent a fresh shudder through Ace, tension stretching even further, but it was offset a little by the way Riddle fumbled, once, fingers slipping off the latex, and the exasperated furrow in his brow told Ace that he was just as keyed up. 

Ace rested his hands back on Riddle’s waist when he was done, guiding him lightly into place, and since no reprimand came, Riddle must have been too busy lining himself up against Ace’s cock to mind it. He paused right at the peak, a beat where he visibly took a deep inhale, before he pushed back and started to sink down in slow, sweet inches, all soft, clenching heat and syrupy pleasure so good Ace felt like he was melting back into the blankets and mattress. Riddle shivered when he bottomed out, swiveled his hips in a half-circle and scrabbled his hands on Ace’s chest, trying to find the best leverage. Ace got the echo of it all, each shudder and twitch edging another quiet, bitten-off sound out of him. 

Something about the exhaustion from coming off of a full day of school and exercise, mixing with the way sex sent all cylinders in his system pumping at full capacity made him floaty, inhibitions gone, like he was genuinely tipsy. Sensations came through bright and clear, the drag of Riddle starting to rock up and down in short little thrusts sending a shock straight up his spine, but his thoughts were insulated and distant and completely, utterly unimportant. Above him, the fine wisps of Riddle’s hair were sticking to his cheek and temple from a thin sheen of sweat there, eyes dark and his lips parted, plush and stained berry red from where he’d bitten them in concentration and Ace had never wanted to taste something more in his life. 

“You’re staring,” Riddle said, breathless. 

“You’re cute,” Ace replied, reaching up with one hand to comb back some of the strands plastered to Riddle’s face and tuck them behind his ear. Riddle looked caught between shock and indignation, eyes widening the instant the words left Ace’s mouth, but Ace was too hazy to care. “C’mere.” 

Despite his obvious surprise, Riddle followed the gentle urging of Ace’s fingers curled around the back of his neck, bending down until he was close enough Ace could tug him into a warm, heavy kiss, tongue delving inside the moment Riddle gave him an opening with a muffled gasp. With Riddle bent over him, he could feel the other’s cock press firmer against his stomach, heated and slick, and even if it was obvious Riddle enjoyed every second of this, the physical reminder lit something in Ace like a fuse. Too soon, though, Riddle moved out of reach again, Ace’s hand lingering as long as it could until his fingertips were trailing down Riddle’s throat and collarbone before slipping away entirely. 

“I can’t—” Riddle swallowed, sitting upright, his ass flush with Ace’s hips and the motion felt like it forced Ace in a little deeper, a little more, until Riddle’s back arched and he was sure of it. “I can’t move like that.” 

A part of him wanted to protest, say they could do it if Riddle would stop being ridiculous and let him _sit up_ a bit, but Riddle had already started moving again, steadily reaching a pace that had the bed giving beneath them on every downstroke. The air in Ace’s lungs left in a choked rush, like someone had reached in his ribcage and squeezed it out, and already he felt overloaded, the tingling pulse of a building orgasm starting to spread from the base of his spine. Riddle’s stamina seemed in no danger of flagging anytime soon, no hitch in his rhythm, and it probably said something about Ace, in the same way he liked to leave footprints in freshly fallen snow, that he wanted to mess it up. 

There may have been something to Riddle’s original plan, though, because the moment Ace tightened his grip and thrust up, his thighs and abs protested with a twinging, lingering ache. The worst of it was cocooned behind the drugging haze of pleasure, but he might regret it later— _might_ being the operative word, since the sound Riddle made when Ace rocked up into him couldn’t be categorized as anything besides a yelp, and everything went sloppy and good after that. Despite Riddle’s movements turning shallow, more erratic, he exhaled a feverish, breathless moan every time their hips rolled together and Ace thrummed with tension. 

“M’seriously gonna—” There was gravel in his voice he didn’t recognize, a rough, desperate cadence, and he thought he heard Riddle slur something like _it’s fine, it’s fine_ above the roar of blood in his ears. He watched Riddle slide one hand over to wrap around his own cock, jerking against Ace at the first stroke and dissolving further into nothing but writhing, legs flexing and shifting restlessly against Ace’s sides. It was more than enough, with the clench and shiver of Riddle’s body around him, to unravel Ace completely, have him coming in a heady, white-hot rush and a strangled groan. True awareness came back to him in slow pieces, soreness and overstimulation beneath the soothing balm of post-orgasm euphoria, so he felt Riddle follow him more than he saw it, in the warm slide of come dripping onto his torso and a shudder so complete the reverb of it made Riddle’s fingers tremble where they were digging into the meat of Ace’s shoulders, just shy of painful. 

Clean up was even more of a blur, a disconnected series of actions Ace knew he must have done, but couldn’t recall actually completing. He shouldn’t have flopped back onto the bed after throwing away the dirty tissues, and he definitely shouldn’t have closed his eyes, but he really meant to do it only until he caught his breath, or Riddle said something about it.

When he opened them next, it was pitch dark. 

At first, Ace assumed he’d been so tired from practice he passed out back in his own room, but it was too quiet for what he was used to with three roommates, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the lighting he noticed the dim outlines of the furniture were in all the wrong places. And the moment he realized the weird wavy shape towards the middle of the room was a settee couch, he also remembered where he was. Shit. _Shit_. 

He thought that maybe he could sneak out before Riddle woke up, but scrambling to find which of the clothes in the absolute mess on the floor were his must have already been too much noise, because when he finally found his pants—and his phone in the pocket—he heard a soft, sleepy sound from behind him. 

“Ace?” Riddle was moving indistinctly, and in the shadows Ace couldn’t tell if the other was looking at him or not. “What’s wrong?” 

“Riddle—” He flinched, wondering what other rule he was going to completely fumble and break today before barreling on. “Dorm head. I fell asleep, I’m sorry, I’ll go the second I figure out where my clothes are.” 

“What do you—at least turn a light on, you idiot.” Riddle did it himself in the end, reaching over to flick on the one set beside the bed, casting the room in muted amber light. “What time is it?

“Uh.” It took Ace a few seconds of dumbly processing the question before he glanced down to the phone in his hand and tapped the screen. “It’s 9:05pm.” 

“So you didn’t stay overnight.” Waving one hand dismissively, Riddle used the other to rub the rest of the drowsiness from his eyes. “It’s not a violation…and even if it was, I’d have to blame myself too. You don’t have to rush” 

“But you probably still want me out of your hair.” They’d always parted ways pretty quickly before, so staying hours later because they both fell asleep seemed like it’d throw some kind of wrench into Riddle’s timetable. 

“I leave some wiggle room in my schedule. Not usually this much, but it shouldn’t be an issue to make it up.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” Riddle was definitely looking at him now, cool and searching. “You’ve never had anything overlap with your chores for the dorm or important first year tests, have you? I actually _do_ take all of that into consideration when I send you invitations to meet up.” 

“Oh.” Ace actually hadn’t considered that at all, which he felt a little stupid for, in retrospect. Riddle had offhandedly mentioned more than once that the demands of his position made his free time less than most students, so he must really have juggled things for—what, an outlet? Or Ace himself? Satisfaction and sour disappointment warred in the pit of his stomach as he tried to decide which option was more likely. Or that could just be hunger. Now that he wasn’t in a disoriented panic, Ace noticed that he was starving, as well as the residual stickiness that definitely called for another shower. “Thanks. I guess.” 

Riddle hummed, short and lightly, like Ace was foolish for not taking his actions as a given, and gestured to the corner of the mattress before saying, “if you find anything of mine as you’re getting dressed, put it there.” 

Everything but the tie was easily sortable, and Ace hoped the one he set on top of the pile he’d gathered was actually Riddle’s. The other didn’t move to get dressed even after Ace was nearly finished, sitting quiet and still on the bed with his legs curled up under him. It was odd, when the dreamy laziness after sex should have long evaporated, but he could be trying to shake the rest of the sleepiness away before he went about whatever tasks were put off during their impromptu nap. Ace heard the sound of rustling fabric behind him as he checked his phone more closely—Yuu and Deuce had both asked after him when he didn’t make an appearance anywhere for dinner, he’d have to think up some excuse before he ran into either of them—which sounded like his cue to get going anyway. 

“See you tomorrow.” Tucking his magical pen safely back into his breast pocket, he’d planned to make a quick getaway while the hallway was unusually clear for this time of the night, but before he could get a single step further, there was a tug at his sleeve and he turned around, bewildered.

“Ace. Wait.” Riddle held onto him, perched on the edge of the bed, back in pants but with his uniform shirt only halfway buttoned up, and something about the disarray, the way his hair was still mussed, made Ace’s chest clench with concern. Riddle didn’t look upset, exactly, no threat of tears or tremble at the corners of his mouth or telltale tensing posture that signaled anger, but there was a flicker, like the shadows of his eyelashes over his cheeks, of an expression Ace knew but couldn’t put a name to in that moment. In frustration, Ace leaned closer, as though proximity could allow him to pull the answer out, but the movement only made Riddle blink at him and smile a perfect Heartslabyul dorm head smile, high-handed and utterly eclipsing every emotion that had been there before. “Flamingos. Tomorrow morning before class, bright and early. Don’t forget. _I_ certainly didn’t.” 

“Yes, dorm head,” Ace replied, because there was nothing else to say, and Riddle let him go. 

It wasn’t until later, when he was back in his own bed after taking his second shower of the day and finding something to eat and telling Deuce he accidentally fell asleep outside after club, that he realized what he saw on Riddle’s face. That had been Riddle collecting himself, settling back into his mantle of control and poise. Usually Ace saw it in an entirely different context, like every time Riddle had to calm down after Floyd had leaned a little too hard on the _how are you so small?_ button. He hadn’t seen it directed his way since the fateful unbirthday party with the apology mont blanc, and a part of Ace almost wished he’d gotten a collar this time. At least then he’d know what he’d said or done to rattle Riddle enough he felt the need to recover his composure, however briefly, instead of this nagging itch of uncertainty. 

But he had to wonder why he was working himself into knots about this in the first place. Riddle hadn’t been angry or upset with him, hadn’t called anything off—and it shouldn’t matter even if he did. No strings attached. No expectations to break. 

No expectations to have. 

What Ace should have done was contentedly get some rest after a long, long day before he had to get up and go feed the flamingos and successfully fight drowsiness during Trien’s droning lectures instead of spinning out the wheels of his mind uselessly in the mud. He turned over, pulled the blankets up over his face to block out the glowing phone screen of whichever roommate was still awake scrolling Magicam, and tried to do exactly that. 

*****

As it turned out, that instance wasn’t the last. Whenever Ace felt or seemed a little more tired than usual, Riddle told him he could stay for a while, set an alarm, and that was that. There were plenty of reasons to refuse, of course, like how atypical it was for Riddle to bend a rule for himself, or that platonic, literal sleeping together probably edged over some sort of line, but Ace never turned the offer down. It was nice to get an hour or so of extra rest, and nicer still to catch Riddle gentle and unguarded right when he woke up. The arrangement had shifted an inch, that was all, and all Ace’s worries felt unfounded and silly. Until invitations for anything at all stopped. 

A week passing was common. Two, less so, but not unheard of, especially if the second years or collective dorm heads had something going on. But three-and-a-half had flown by without a word, and Ace was beginning to feel some unease about it. Enough that he did something that might have been considered breaking a rule, which was to text _everything good?_ into the private chat with Riddle for meetups. He didn’t get an angry response, or much of one at all in general, just a standard _I’ve been busy_ reply. 

The last time they were together, Ace hadn’t noticed anything going wrong, either. They hadn’t fought, he didn’t say anything strange and neither did Riddle. He’d left with a returned smile and wave to go win snacks from everyone in the common room by fleecing them in blackjack. The next day, Riddle said good morning to him at breakfast and hello after class and interacted with him without a hint of awkwardness or avoidance. So maybe it was a too-stuffed schedule. He did seem harried recently, once Ace started looking, a weight and strain held in his posture reminiscent of how he appeared before overblotting. The idea sent a cold nugget of dread dropping into Ace’s gut, but Riddle hadn’t been taking off any and every hapless first year’s head recently, so he probably didn’t have that, specifically, to worry about. 

There was plenty more to mull over, though, especially with Riddle listless and quiet across from him in the lounge. They were waiting for Deuce to clean up and get changed after his club ran late, before the three of them meandered over to the library. Trey and Cater were supposed to meet them there—all hands on deck for the two dire history grades. Ace would be thinking of ways to possibly wriggle his way out of it, if his attention wasn’t swallowed up by the silence instead. He wasn’t being ignored, he knew. If he spoke, Riddle would answer. But if he asked what he truly wanted, if he asked why Riddle really stopped inviting him for sex or why he seemed so worn out nowadays, he’d probably get a canned response. Ace wasn’t someone Riddle would share his problems with. Nobody had heart-to-hearts with their fuck buddies, and beyond that, Ace was nothing but trouble for Riddle. There was no reason for him to be considered special, or a confidant, and all of a sudden that notion chafed, abrasive and sandpaper rough. 

A deck from one of their last game nights was still on the table between the couches, and Ace picked it up, slipping the cards from their sleeve to practice shuffling before he burnt out completely from overthinking. He genuinely had to concentrate on a spring flourish unless he wanted to play 52 pickup, and the ruffle of the edges across his fingers was grounding. He felt himself start to relax after a few passes, tenseness in his shoulders loosening, and after a few more, he noticed that Riddle was watching the stream of cards fall back and forth between his hands. Oh. There was still _something_ he could do after all. 

After a quick, subtle setup of the deck, he fanned it out, and held it within Riddle’s reach on the opposite couch. 

“Pick a card,” he prompted. Riddle’s gaze flicked from the cards, to Ace’s face, and back to the cards again, before he selected one near the middle. Ace closed the fan and cut the deck, tapping the top card on the half in his left hand. “Don’t show it to me, and put it back.” 

“Not a clairvoyant spell, I take it?” 

“Not even close.” When Riddle did as told, Ace set the half in his right hand on top, and shuffled the deck—loosely, although because of the flashy technique it would appear thorough to Riddle. Once finished, he thumbed through the cards, making a show of deliberating before picking out Riddle’s, and inconspicuously, his key card as a decoy. When held up, pinched between his first two fingers and thumb, only the latter would show. “Is this your card?” 

“No.” Frowning and visibly unimpressed, Riddle folded his arms and Ace hoped a grin wasn’t starting to grow on his own face in response. “Did you do it wrong?” 

“Huh. Maybe. Let me try one thing. How about—” He flicked the corner of the cards with his thumb, snap changing with a quick twist of his fingers to Riddle’s card behind the decoy, and he knew he made it look seamless, like a single card transformed into another, when the other’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open. “Now?”

“How did you do that?” Riddle demanded. 

“Magic,” Ace replied, shrugging and handing over the chosen card after discreetly slipping the decoy back into the deck. 

“You just said it wasn’t a spell.” Riddle examined the Jack of Hearts from all angles, and—there it was, finally, a real smile. The kind that made Riddle’s eyes crinkle from the round apple of his cheeks. One Ace had caused, and a satisfied, bright warmth started seeping into all the places the uneasiness from before was receding from. “Impressive with your tricks as ever.” 

“So that earned some praise? Good to know.” 

“If you practiced actual spellcasting half as much, you’d be first in your year.” Pointedly, Riddle returned the card to Ace, who sheepishly put it and the rest of the deck back into its sleeve. 

“I _do_ practice.” More than he ever did when he first came to Night Raven College, at least. “And one day I’m seriously going to go toe-to-toe with you.” 

“I suppose I’ll look forward to if that day ever comes.” Riddle leaned back on the couch, self-assured and preening in that way he, unfortunately, totally earned, but as the seconds ticked by, his expression slowly morphed into something much more contemplative. “I…do you really see me as a goal to reach?” 

“Huh?” Taken aback, Ace’s only reply for a long stretch of silence was rapid, owlish blinking. Riddle took that as answer enough, if the way his lips pursed and his gaze darted away was any indication, and Ace scrambled to not entirely unravel all his hard work getting the other into a better mood. “I never really thought of it like that, but what else would you call someone you want to match because they’re admirable, I guess?” 

“You _admire_ me?” 

“I—” Now he’d done it. There was no taking it back when Riddle had just heard it a moment ago, much less when the pricking flush of embarrassment across the back of Ace’s neck meant he was red to the tips of his ears. “Your magic.” 

“Really?” Riddle quirked an eyebrow disbelievingly for a beat before he started laughing, full and bright, and Ace’s humiliation only grew when he had the thought completely making a fool of himself _might_ have been worth it for that. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget there’s a part of you that’s astonishingly sincere.” 

“Thanks, dorm head,” Ace replied, dourly. 

“I mean it. Egregious rule-breaking aside, that paradox of yours suits our dorm nicely.” Riddle still smiled at him, but the corners of it had softened into something more reserved, faintly unsure, a vulnerability so rare to see on Riddle that Ace’s pulse kicked up with nerves. “And no one would have ever said something like that about me—before, so. Thank you, Ace.” 

_No problem,_ he should say. Or, _you’ve gotten way better_. And probably not, _please stop looking at me like that so I quit wanting to kiss you this badly_ , but before he could even open his mouth to speak, Deuce rushed into the lounge, slightly out of breath, and the opportunity went up in smoke. 

“Sorry to make you wait,” Deuce said, shooting Ace a bewildered glance at the glare tossed his way. “Was I too slow?” 

“Not at all,” Riddle answered, standing from the couch and smoothing out his slacks. “Let’s get going now that we’re all here.” 

By the time he was settled in the heavy hush of the library, Ace had forgiven Deuce for his horrible timing. The longer he dwelled on it, the more that implied the interruption was of something important or personal, which it couldn’t be, because then Ace would have a serious problem. And he didn’t. He certainly, absolutely didn’t have any problem besides how he was going to memorize an absurd amount of specific dates, even with Riddle’s coaching and tips about mnemonics. 

At some point, his overcompensated focus on the study material tipped over into actual engagement, and the murmured conversations around him faded out, until a third of the way through filling in the timeline of the Afterglow Savannah’s line of succession without references, when Ace felt a solid weight drop against his left shoulder. He startled, snapping his head around to find the cause. Thankfully he hadn’t jumped too forcefully in his seat, because Riddle was fast asleep, tilted sideways in his chair until he was leaning against Ace. It was unusual enough to see Riddle so much as yawn during a lesson or study group, and judging by Deuce’s baffled, panic-edged expression, Riddle had drifted off before finishing whatever tutoring he’d been doing. How exhausted _was_ he? 

“Aw, he’s so peaceful,” Cater stage whispered, holding up his phone and waving it meaningfully. “Do you think he’d get mad if I took a pic?” 

“Let him sleep.” Putting one hand on Cater’s wrist, Trey gently forced it to the table, until Cater laid his phone face-down on the surface. “And Deuce, come over here. I’ll help you.”

That left Ace alone on his side with Riddle still dead to the world, and his concentration was now totally shot. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the closest he’d been to Riddle in weeks, that existing in the same space and glancing, casual touch was nowhere near what he’d gotten used to when they were meeting up regularly. Resisting the urge to tip his head scant inches and rest his cheek on the crown of Riddle’s head, to nestle closer and feel the warmth of his body along his entire side instead of a single point, was like an ache, the kind of hollow, bruised feeling leftover from getting smacked by a strong spell. Unconcerned with the slow torture he was inflicting, Riddle sighed quietly in his sleep, shifted, and relaxed again. 

Ace read the same line in his notebook a dozen times. Debated straight out asking Trey and Cater if they knew why Riddle was so tired. Fantasized attempting some high-level teleportation spell no one else had accomplished to literally vanish from the situation. Eventually, he surrendered entirely and settled on the pure physicality of practicing spinning his magic pen across his fingers to pass the time. At least the arm Riddle had taken out of commission was Ace’s non-dominant one. 

He couldn’t be certain how long it took, but after what felt like at least another hour, Cater cajolingly asked for a break, and snacks, which meant they should all leave and return to the dorm for the night. Trey didn’t look as convinced by that as he did Riddle still dozing, but he started to pack up his things at the suggestion nonetheless. 

“It’s getting pretty late. Ace, you can probably wake him up now.” 

“Sure.” As eager as he was to escape this predicament and everything it brought to the surface, Ace tried shaking Riddle’s shoulder as gently as possible, until he saw the other’s eyes blinking open blearily. “Hey. It’s time to go.” 

“Did I sleep through the alarm?” Reaching up, Riddle brushed the backs of his fingers against Ace’s cheek, languid and affectionate and something Ace might lean into if it was under any other circumstance. But it was in the middle of the library with the other three members of their group staring at them in various shades of shock, and Ace could feel the blood drain from his face. “Thank you for getting me up.” 

“Dorm head?” Ace said, weakly, and maybe it was the lack of “Riddle,” or he caught on to how Ace had paled, or he finally noticed he was not tucked in his bed back in his room, but at those words Riddle froze, casted a frantic look around, and then turned a vibrant shade of crimson. Quicker than even Ace could react, Riddle snatched his hand away and scooped up all of his belongings. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait—” 

Riddle didn’t respond, except to leap up from his chair and swiftly move out of range and through the rows of bookshelves to the building’s exit. It took Ace a beat of staring dumbly after him before he fumbled to pick up everything important from the table and try to follow. His upperclassmen and Deuce must have finally shaken themselves out of their stupor, because he heard a flurry of questions start up, but by then Ace was already pushing his seat back and sprinting in the direction he saw Riddle leave in.

The only people he saw immediately when he burst out onto Main Street was a small group of Scarabia students, who all looked back at the library as though they thought it might be on fire when he dashed past them. He assumed Riddle made a beeline back to Heartslabuyl, but it took him until he ran to the main building that he realized he didn’t even have an idea of what to say if he caught up. The cat was out of the bag, or at least enough that it mattered. Even if they managed to explain away a touch that intimate, or Ace’s subsequent reaction, Riddle fleeing from the scene was too incriminating. Forget a huge gap between meeting up, the whole friends with benefits deal was off at this point.

As the sweat cooled and Ace caught his breath, he wondered if he was running after Riddle to convince him otherwise. _It didn’t matter if everyone knew, it’d be fine, don’t stop seeing me, don’t go to someone else_ —

Ace didn’t spend much time with the cold, sticky touch of guilt—dwelling too much on it made a poor liar, after all—but it coiled firmly around him now, a second skin. Objectively speaking, he had nothing to be guilty about. He didn’t break a written rule, and technically neither did Riddle. It was an accident. Bad luck. But he’d broken one of the unspoken ones, imploded what should have been a defined and easy relationship, and yet, for once in his life Ace wasn’t going to simply walk away from the wreckage and pretend it didn’t happen. 

He made it back to his room without running into anyone, be it Riddle or otherwise. He told his roommates he had a stomachache and they left him alone to stay in bed getting restless snatches of sleep until the washed out light of dawn started peeking through the curtains. Thinking an early start meant he could make an action plan without much interruption, he got up and dressed and as he headed into the hallway with his toiletries to brush his teeth in the communal bathrooms, he nearly tripped over Deuce and Yuu sitting in front of the door. 

“ _Finally_ ,” Yuu groaned, standing up and stretching. “Grim, wake up, he’s here.” 

“Mmn?” Grim poked his head out from where he’d been apparently curled up in Yuu’s school bag, out of sight. “Ah! Caught ya!” 

“What are you doing here?” Ace asked, attention ping-ponging between all three of them in disbelief. “How long have you been waiting?” 

“A stakeout!” Grim said, proudly. “And too long. You definitely can’t escape now, so you’re going to tell us what’s going on!” 

“Going on with what?” 

“Deuce told us what happened at the library last night.” Yuu gestured to him, but because he appeared to be still dozing, he didn’t respond. “It was Grim’s idea for the stakeout, but honestly, I’m pretty curious myself. How long have you and Riddle been dating?” 

“We’re not dating,” Ace said, flatly, and the truth still tasted sour. Yuu tapped a finger to his chin, thoughtful. 

“Then what’s going on?” 

“I can’t say.” 

“You can’t or you won’t?” 

“ _Can’t_.” Ace pushed past him to head towards the bathroom, but Yuu trailed doggedly at his heels. “It’s a rule.” 

“Since when do _you_ care about rules at all?” Grim clamored, and that was a good question. There was no reason for Ace to stick to any of those rules now, except that Riddle was obviously upset by part of their relationship being out in the open, and Ace wasn’t about to be the one to make that worse. 

“Since now, about these ones. You’re not getting anything else from me, so you can go.” Neither of them budged, and Ace rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Yuu’s said why he cares, and Deuce is a meddler at heart, but why do you want to know any of this, Grim?” 

“Knowing people’s secrets is fun,” he said, simply. “I also thought I could get some tuna out of it.” 

“And I’m an easier mark for extortion than the dorm head, great. Can I at least brush my teeth before you start interrogating me again?” 

Yuu finally took enough pity on him to let him by, and when he came back out of the bathroom, Deuce was on his feet and fully awake as well. Ace remained tight lipped through lobbed questions from all three of them as they shadowed his every move. They didn’t give up even when he went down one of the winding back ways out of the dorm, towards a side door away from the kitchen or the entryway where people would congregate. Ace thought they’d be the worst he’d have to deal with, annoying but ultimately straightforward and bearable, but when he stepped outside and heard delighted laughter behind him, he knew his morning had gotten a lot more complex. 

“All the options and you still pick the most obvious one!” Cater pushed himself off the wall beside the doorway and waved. He was dressed in the official Heartslabyul dorm outfit—a copy. “Not like it mattered. I have mes everywhere. Hiya, Ace-chan and company.” 

“Diamond-senpai? What are you—”

“I can’t say anything to you, either,” Ace declared. “So this effort really wasn’t worth it.” 

“I know. Riddle-kun said something like that last night. But if I figured it out on my own, it wouldn’t really be telling me, would it?” Cater shrugged, and twirled a bit of hair between his fingers. “He’s been running himself ragged lately, and is pretty upset about whatever’s going on, so I’d like to hear your side of things.” 

“…how upset?” 

“That sounds like a ‘yes, I’ll answer your questions’ to me.” 

“Fine.” Heaving a heavy sigh, Ace folded his arms and raised his head, meeting Cater’s gaze. “What do you want to know?” 

“You guys aren’t dating, right?” 

“No.” 

“So if you aren’t dating, but you’re really, really close, then there’s only one other option.” Somewhere behind them, Yuu and Deuce let out twin _oh!_ s of recognition, and Ace tamped down a flinch. “You two had a friends with benefits thing going on. Did you break it off recently?” 

“I didn’t.” It rankled a bit, how the ease in which he was pinned down presented the undeniable possibly that Cater, or others, might have suspected something for a long while. “If anything, the dorm head had been ignoring _me_. It’s been a while since we’ve met that way.” 

“As they say, curiouser and curiouser.” Cater was quiet for a stretch, staring off in contemplation to some point right beside Ace’s head. The silence was filled in by a flurry of noise erupting nearby: Grim demanding if friends with benefits was something involving food or preferential treatment and Yuu hissed he’d tell the creature later. “Was the whole thing your idea?” 

“His. He wanted the opportunity and experience he’d never gotten before.” 

“And he picked you for that?” Suddenly, Cater’s gaze sharpened and fixated back on him. “Did he say why?” 

“He gave a lot of reasons.” The moment the words left him, he could practically see the lightbulb go off above Cater’s head, but what revelation he had from something that simple, Ace couldn’t fathom. “What is it?” 

“Nothing. I think I’ve figured out what’s going on. It’s _probably_ not my place to say anything but…” Cater tipped his head from side-to-side, miming serious and profound deliberation. “I’d be willing to give you some advice.” 

“Uh-huh. And is that gonna come free?” 

“Wow, treating me with such suspicion is really cold. I’m not Azul-kun. Speaking of, you better hope he hasn’t caught wind of _any_ of this. Blood in the water.” While Cater’s faux wounded attitude could be somewhat ignored, his other statement could not, and Ace had a shiver of existential dread at the thought of learning what it was Azul thought he might trade away his soul for in this situation. “All I’m saying is that if Riddle-kun has a sweet boyfriend who likes to help him out because of love and affection, then that frees up some of my responsibilities.” 

“I— _what_?” Like missing a step on a staircase, Ace felt a shocking jolt shoot through him when he met the empty air where an explanation should be and hit _boyfriend_ instead. “Who said anything about any of that?” 

“Who’s sweet?” Offered Deuce, unhelpfully, and Ace made a mental note not to give him a single word of his notes for the next exam season.

“You really don’t have a clue, huh.” Cater’s carefree smile was equally grating, and Ace began to wonder if today was destined to be the equivalent of slowly moving through a meat grinder. “Ace-chan, I think you’re forgetting what you said yourself about how it started. Your little deal had boundaries, and he knew where you and he stood. Now, he’s in uncharted territory, so don’t make that worse for him. Be honest.” 

“Now that I think about it, whenever you sing Riddle’s praises, it’s always to other people. Is saying it directly embarrassing?” Yuu glanced up at Ace, full of innocent curiosity, but when he only received a blank look in return, Yuu’s expression faded to that familiar shade of distaste whenever he was faced with something from this world he felt was, as he put it, unforgivably stupid. “You didn’t realize you do that all the time, did you?” 

“Look,” Cater interjected, putting his hands companionably on Ace’s shoulders. “Riddle-kun is going to figure out exactly what he’s going to say, and then come to you to say it. You could always wait around for that. If, for whatever reason, you don’t want to, all I’m going to mention is that he’s too responsible to be far from Heartslabyul for long, even if you can’t find him at first. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Ace echoed the agreement without believing it, unable to shake the thought in all his friends’ implications and teasing, they were missing something obvious. He could make a grand confession and that wouldn’t change his status as a stepping stone, as a temporary arrangement. Riddle, likely elsewhere on campus with Trey right about now, was probably coming to his senses and thinking of breaking things off. 

Ace could do what he always did, kick his feelings to the wayside for a more comfortable half-truth, but the thought of biting his tongue made his stomach churn, this time. Maybe it was the executioner’s axe of rejection hanging over his head that forced him to get some last words out, let Riddle know he was amazing and hard-working enough to make the person who hated him, who repeatedly called him a tyrant, fall head over heels in the end. 

“You look down. I know what will make you feel better.” Grim’s voice sounded uncomfortably close, and Ace figured out why in the next second, when the monster’s claws dug into his back and then his scalp as Grim scrambled up to perch on his head. “Buying me food from the school store.” 

“Ow! Ow! How is spending money on you supposed to make _me_ feel better?” Ace flailed his arms above him, trying to dislodge Grim to no avail. “Get off!” 

“Generosity is its own reward. Or something.” 

“I’ll buy you breakfast, Ace,” Deuce said, patting him consolingly. 

“And coffee,” Yuu added with a yawn. “I need it, too.”

“Were you guys up late?” 

Grim and Yuu launched into an explanation of their—apparently eventful—stakeout adventure to Cater while they walked, and Ace tuned them out despite being quietly grateful for the comfort of their concern. Caffeine would be a further balm against the weariness he felt tugging at him, but that wouldn’t be much of a buffer between Ace and the long hours whittled away in class until the end of the day. 

The worst part of everything was that Ace knew if even the chance to go back to that day Riddle propositioned him, to the start of the mess he’d mired himself in, he wouldn’t give a different answer. _Sure, let’s do it,_ a dozen, dozen, dozen times over. 

***** 

His brother told him about the maze 

Ace had tried all the other places first, of course. Every hidden corner of the dorm itself, the unbirthday party terrace, the flamingo pond, the croquet court and the hedgehog enclosures, where they all came over to the bars of their cages to sniff Ace’s fingers for treats. Riddle was nowhere to be found, which left only one area on the grounds. As Ace had heard it, on top of the rose maze’s already enormous size, there were hidden nooks and crannies that only appeared when someone walked through in an incredibly specific pattern. If Riddle wanted somewhere to be alone to think, he wouldn’t be the type to leave even a small chance of someone accidentally interrupting him. 

One secret Ace tried already turned up empty, and he only knew of three in total. If there were any more, like one only imparted to the dorm head of Heartslabuyl upon coronation, then Ace was completely out of luck. He had the second and third to attempt before giving up entirely, however, and stepped into the centermost maze entrance. Five right turns, turn around, four left turns, go straight until he couldn’t anymore, spin three times, two more right turns, step _backwards_ into the last fork and make a left turn instead— 

The hedges opened up into a wide, circular dead-end with a fountain set in the middle. It must have been enchanted, because the water from the spout of the stone teapot at the bottom flowed upwards into the tiers of cups and saucers and pastries, before flowing back down to the reservoir at the bottom. And sitting at the edge of the fountain’s basin was Riddle, his back to the entrance of the clearing. Ace couldn’t hear him from the distance, or above the burbling of the water, but he could tell Riddle was crying, head bowed and shoulders hitching in stutters from sobs. His chest constricted, a painful little spasm of concern, but he stepped towards the center regardless. 

“Dorm head,” Ace called, and then, trying again, “Riddle.” 

Riddle’s only response was to visibly stiffen. Carefully, Ace approached the fountain in slow, deliberate strides, but Riddle didn’t motion or demand that he leave, so once he was in range, he gingerly perched next to the other on the stone rim of the reservoir. It dug into the tops of his thighs uncomfortably, and the spray from the fountain flicked onto the nape of his neck, but around them, the roses bloomed full and lush on the bushes, pure white and fragrant, and it was the most relaxed Ace had felt all day, breathing in the scent of flowers while waiting for Riddle to talk. 

“Did Cater tell you where I was?” His voice was wet and wavering when he did finally speak, and he remained firmly turned away from Ace. 

“No. Well—he gave me a hint. I knew about the maze already.” 

“I see.” Riddle sniffed, brought his hands up to his face to scrub at his cheeks and eyes, before slowly straightening his shoulders and lifting his head. “Before I say anything else, I want you to know, I never meant to…deceive you, or hurt you purposefully.” 

“Uh.” This was already going in a direction Ace didn’t know what to make of. “All right.” 

“I…” He looked at Ace then, eyes bloodshot and lashes clumped together from tears, and there was no lingering adrenaline from a magic duel or righteous anger in Ace to burn away how awful he felt at the sight this time. “I really thought it would be fine. It was easy, we had rules, I liked how it felt. But I kept wanting more and more of your time. It got harder to keep a proper distance from you outside of the bedroom. All of it happened so gradually I don’t know if I could have ever stopped it, but that’s not really an excuse.” 

“For what?” Ace tried to breathe, slow and even, to wrangle his heartbeat back under control from where it was thrumming excitedly, because while Riddle’s words sounded like a confession, his tone was of unburdening guilt. 

“For breaking a rule. The biggest one. The one we didn’t even need to make because it was so obvious.” Riddle inhaled, hiccupy from the remnants of crying, and barreled on before Ace could speak past the shock choking his throat. “It’s obvious to me now that I felt this way from the start. That I asked you to be my partner for this because I liked you and didn’t realize it. When I did finally understand, I lost so much sleep over figuring out how to tell you. And then last night happened. I’d let the secret slip, and I didn’t want to air that out, to get rejected, in front of the others—”

“Wait. _Wait_.” Impulsively, Ace grabbed Riddle’s shoulders, squeezing gently until his voice trailed off into startled silence. He barely registered half the information he was getting, the explanations for Riddle’s recent exhaustion and the way he suddenly stopped inviting Ace to get together, but Riddle’s easy assumption that Ace would outright reject him was so off-base, it forced him into action. “Why do you think I’d do that?” 

“What are you talking about?” Riddle snapped, with actual, dangerous, off-with-your-head fury edging his tone, like he thought Ace was being purposefully obtuse, or joking. “What else would you do?” 

A hundred different things, and none of them a rejection. Riddle looked irritated enough that the longer Ace was quiet the more peril he was putting himself in, but until that moment he’d been living in the reality where Riddle could never see him in that light. The reality where there were plenty of other people who took their studies more seriously, had more respect for the rules, and didn’t cause trouble every time they walked outside. The reality where “no strings attached” existed so Riddle could step away whenever he’d had enough to shower his attention and touch and affection on someone who deserved it. But that was a lie, a fabrication, a dreamland of his own stupid making, because reality was Riddle glaring at him, cheeks flushed an angry red and the late afternoon sunlight casting him in gold, and he’d never looked prettier. Riddle, who’d thought all the while that Ace could abide someone he viewed as a strict, upright taskmaster for sex, but never for an actual partner, never for fun or friendship or romance. 

“Kiss you,” Ace blurted, because that was what he’d do, what he wanted to do so badly his hands were already moving up to cup Riddle’s face between them. The touch instantly snuffed out the indignation from Riddle’s expression, replaced by a guardedness that froze Ace partway through the motion of leaning in. “Can I?” 

“You never asked permission before,” Riddle pointed out, the depths of his gaze lost and imploring, and Ace suddenly understood what _uncharted territory_ really meant. Riddle reaching his hand out for Ace in the dark, for reassurance, unvarnished and mutual. “Why?”

“I like you. A lot. Go out with me?” So much for some flowery, passionate confession—a fake one for a troublesome ghost had more embellishment, but Riddle was smiling at him, finally, slow and sweet like a time-lapse video of a flower blooming, so it must have been just right. “We did this completely backwards.” 

“We did. I didn’t mean to.” Riddle shook his head, voice dropping to a murmur as he admitted, “I really am bad at this.” 

“Not much worse than me. You’re the first person I’ve—I don’t know, been this much of a mess over?” Shrugging, Ace adverted his attention to the rustle of the hedge leaves in the breeze, already at his limit for saying embarrassing things while having to look directly at Riddle. “I still don’t get why you thought my dating experience counted for anything.” 

“I never said it did,” Riddle mused. “I saw Ortho’s video, but, I already told you I like that earnest part you like to keep buried.” 

“You _watched_ that?” Ace pulled his hands away from Riddle’s face so he could bury his own in them. “Seriously?” 

“Yes. Should I not have?” 

“No one should have watched it!” 

“Well, it’s too late for that.” In the stretch of quiet that followed, Ace did not look up, but he heard the soft whisper of cloth sliding along stone as Riddle sidled closer, the weight and warmth of his body pressed along Ace’s side that echoed the memory of the previous night in the library. “…you won’t get any special treatment from me.” 

“I didn’t expect any,” Ace said, lowering his fingers enough he could peer at Riddle over the tips of them. “Actually, I kind of figured you’d be even harder on me now.” 

“You don’t mind? You won’t get fed up and have second thoughts?” 

“If I minded that much, I don’t think I’d like you as much as I do in the first place.” Ace thought that was obvious, but although Riddle was nestled close, head pillowed on Ace’s shoulder, he was staring firmly at the grass under their feet. “Riddle. It’s not like I won’t speak up if you do something I think crosses a line.” 

“Ah. That’s right. My friend who will tell me off.” Riddle tipped his head back, enough he could smile up at Ace, faintly. “I said that was important criteria you met, didn’t I?” 

“Boyfriend now, isn’t it?” Ace muttered, lifting his arm up to drape it around Riddle’s shoulders, who hummed a quiet affirmation in response. “Not to ruin the mood, and all, but could we maybe do this somewhere else? The fountain isn’t comfortable.” 

“You want to be interrupted that badly?” 

“Okay, point taken.” They would likely get swarmed the second they were spotted by any of their friends. In fact, Ace wouldn’t be surprised if all the dorm entrances and exits were being watched. “Tell me when, then.” 

Navigating the rose maze in near darkness turned out to be a very bad idea, one full of thorns and dead-ends, and Ace might have regretted it more if his lips weren’t still tingling from the last _just one more_ kiss. 

Or if every other consequences-be-damned decision he’d made in recent memory hadn’t turned out completely, utterly, wholeheartedly in his favor.

**Author's Note:**

> stirs milk into my tea and taps my spoon clean on the mug rim
> 
> Title comes from "2/14" by The Band CAMINO. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and until next time!


End file.
